Just Waiting for a Pardon
by INMH
Summary: For the angst bingo challenge, prompt "Assault". A snapshot of one of the more unpleasant scenes from Murphy's time in Ryall.


Just Waiting for a Pardon

**Rating:** PG-13/T

**Genre:** Angst/Drama

**Summary:** For the angst_bingo challenge, prompt "Assault". A snapshot of one of the more unpleasant scenes from Murphy's time in Ryall.

**Author's Note:** …Don't know. I just wanted to write something with Murphy in it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Silent Hill. It belongs to Konami/Vatra. The title comes from the song "Saint John", by the Cold War Kids.

()()

Just roll with it.

_**BANG. BANG. BANG**._

"_Fucking dick!_"

Don't respond. Just go with it. Roll with the punches. Make enough noise to let them know that yes, it hurts. Make no noise and they'll just try harder to make sure that you're feeling every ounce of pain that they want you to feel.

And don't ever, ever talk back: An inmate down the row from Murphy's cell had tried that once, and the poor bastard had gotten his teeth kicked in. Next time Murphy saw the guy, he was wearing dentures and was suddenly a lot less flippant with just about everyone (An accidental brunch consisting of your incisors and bicuspids would do that to you).

Murphy doesn't know exactly what he's done to deserve this beating, if anything. There were certain inmates outside of the established gang members that liked playing the alpha male, liked kicking around the other inmates just to remind them who was bigger and stronger and could win a fight the easiest. Glorified bullies with no teachers to reprimand them.

This was one of those guys. The gangs messed with each other, and really only bothered with random inmates when one of them deliberately crossed said gang's path. Murphy has always made it a point to stay away from any and all gang members and to swallow his pride and show them respect whenever they do get too close for comfort. But no: This guy was just a jackass.

Murphy might have gotten a reason for this beating thrown in amongst the excessive snarling and snapping that this guy was throwing at him, but the blood pounding in his ears was making it difficult to really process anything at the moment. And really, what did it matter if he'd actually done something? Whatever it was, the infraction had been so minor that he hadn't even noticed it; it meant that he'd get jumped for just about anything.

The real danger in these situations was when you fought back. Unless the person had a really serious, deliberate bone to pick with you, they probably only intended to rough you up and leave you bleeding on the floor rather than dead. Fighting back meant shanks and sloppy punches that might break a nose the wrong way or knock someone's head into the concrete. The perpetrator could look at an extended sentence, and the so-called victim could end up one of the many bodies on a slab in the morgue.

Murphy was not stupid. He'd never been a real brain, but he had common sense. He'd learned to suppress what little remained of his pride within his first year in this hellhole, and so now it was just a matter of dealing with the physical pain and making sure that he didn't accidentally move in a way that gave his attacker the impression that he intended to fight back or mouth off.

_**WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.**_

The inmate's foot slamming into Murphy's ribs. His arms were up protecting his head. He could survive broken ribs, a punctured lung even- The brain was the priority. It was a natural instinct, but Murphy knew it consciously anyways and was careful to make sure that his skull sustained as little trauma as possible.

The inmate had unknowingly backed Murphy into the safest place: Against the wall. With Murphy on his side, the inmate kicking at his stomach and chest, his back and spine were pressed to the wall and therefore safe from the onslaught. Because after the head, the spine was the first thing you had to keep shielded.

Murphy coughed sharply, almost gagging as a particularly brutal kick directly to the ribs winded him so fiercely that he lost his breath.

This was prison. This was what they warned kids about when they took those Scare-'Em-Straight tours through the facility. _Don't get up to any bullshit kids, because believe me, you can't handle this. You may __**think**__ you can handle this, but you really, truly can't. Because here, mommy and daddy can't protect you from the assholes in the pack who are bigger, stronger and don't have anything to lose from bashing your head in. They don't care. _

The minutes blended together into hours, and at some point the inmate seemed to realize that Murphy was about as immobile and pathetic as he was going to get, because the beating stopped. With no punches or kicks to jolt him unpleasantly back into semi-consciousness, Murphy soon passed out.

When Murphy woke up, there was a guard kneeling over him. The guy was maybe his age, relatively new to the facility (or at least Murphy's section of it). His expression was both surprised and grim as he looked Murphy over.

"What happened?"

Murphy struggled and managed to push himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. "Having trouble remembering that, actually." He could feel blood running down his chin. His lip was split from the punch that had started the assault. Aside from that and a headache that's probably a result of blood loss or exhaustion, Murphy knew his head was unharmed. That was why the guard's eyes seemed to flash with understanding, while his tone reflected a dry sarcasm.

"Sure." He motioned for Murphy to stay put (And where the hell did he expect him to go?) and picked up his radio. "We need a stretcher down in C-Block, somebody got the crap beaten out of him." Murphy almost snorted at that. How many times had he heard that same report and not given a damn because it wasn't him?

All the same, he was still alive. And that counted for something.

-End


End file.
